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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288890">Think Twice When You Grab The Phone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgularepeopletoo/pseuds/nazgularepeopletoo'>nazgularepeopletoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dunkirk (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Guns, Injury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:55:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazgularepeopletoo/pseuds/nazgularepeopletoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It should have been an easy job. Get to the checkpoint, take aim, fire, haul ass out of there, get paid. When he’d opened the folder and seen a picture of the son of some famous French fashion designer he hadn’t even questioned it. Sure it was a stupid job, but the number of zeros on the check kept his mouth shut.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>song prompt</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Think Twice When You Grab The Phone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Melanie Martinez's "Milk and Cookies"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It should have been an easy job. Get to the checkpoint, take aim, fire, haul ass out of there, get paid. When he’d opened the folder and seen a picture of the son of some famous French fashion designer he hadn’t even questioned it. Sure it was a stupid job, but the number of zeros on the check kept his mouth shut. He should have been in and out, ten minutes tops. But he wasn’t. He was pressed under the ledge of a building avoiding the bright beams of light that threatened to expose him. </p>
<p> Alex prided himself on his professionalism, always had. So when he realised he had no way out, that he’d forgotten to scope out a contingency plan, he cursed himself quietly, then loudly. The police were still far enough away that no one would be able to hear him, but they were getting an idea of where the shot had come from. Taking a breath, he glanced around the roof, running over a list of escape routes and what exactly had gone wrong.</p>
<p> To be honest he should have known something was up when he’d counted twice as much security as had been assessed in the file, including two police cars, one on either side of the venue entrance. Other than increased security, the fact that the building he had scoped out earlier that week suddenly had construction on the top floor that he was unaware of should have been a major red flag. He always researched the small things, such as if his access to the roof would be impeded. </p>
<p> Of course he’d gone on with it anyway. The building next door was empty for the night and had a similar vantage point, but the change in location was what was throwing off his escape now. This rooftop only had two exits; back down the stairs and a fire escape that ran down the opposite side of the building as the front. He was wary of both options, starting to feel trapped. As if someone had deliberately set him up even before he’d pulled the file out of the mall locker room. </p>
<p> Making a decision, he hurled himself to his feet, sprinting across the roof to the metal stairs winding their way down the building. He heard a shout from the street below where he’d been hiding, putting the pressure on high. Sliding the gun back into the bag strapped to his back, Alex leapt over the side of the building, landing on the fire escape with a crash. That was subtle. Not taking the time to care, he hurried down them, glancing from the steps beneath him to the street, waiting for armed cops to round the corner. </p>
<p> Suddenly he felt the ground disappear from underneath him, and he yelled, flailing his arms for purchase as the fire escape abruptly ended fifteen feet off the ground. His left hand caught, yanking hard at the shoulder joint as he hyper extended it, but at least he wasn’t dead. He’d rather deal with a sore shoulder than dozens of broken bones. With a grunt he swung his other hand, then a leg up onto the last landing of the escape, wincing as the grooved metal dug into his knees. </p>
<p> It was at that moment that the cops rounded the corner, but they didn’t see him, not yet. They were still focused on the ground and the roof, flashlight beams missing him. With another quiet curse he glanced up, seeing a window three feet above the landing he was on. Despite the increasingly sharp pain in his shoulder, probably dislocated and relocated, he hauled himself up, punching in the screen with his good hand and then tumbling over the sill onto the floor below. </p>
<p> He gave himself thirty seconds to breathe, then got up, slower than he would have liked, to replace the screen. Even if it didn’t look like it had been tampered with, there wasn’t really anywhere else for him to have gone. If he could make it to the basement, there might have been an exit there, maybe even secret tunnels if he was lucky. Before he could continue any thoughts of the basement, the overhead light of the kitchen he’d fallen into flickered on. </p>
<p> Alex froze, not even daring to breathe as he felt the weight of a pair of eyes staring directly at the bag on his back, taking in his appearance and how he was dressed. Alex could hear the quiet voices of tv reporters spilling through the door from what must have been someone's bedroom, undoubtedly covering the still unfolding crime scene. Taking a breath, three seconds in, three seconds out, he turned, expecting a gun pointed at his forehead, or at the very least confronted with someone on the phone with the police.</p>
<p> What he wasn’t expecting was a scrawny college student in oversized sweats staring at him wide eyed with a bowl of ramen in one hand and a 12 ounce bottle of soda in the other. The two men stared at each other, neither daring to move another muscle. Finally the kid started slowly setting the bowl down on the counter, eyes flicking back to the bag again. He cleared his throat, holding his now free hand up.</p>
<p> “You’re the one who tried to kill that French kid, aren’t you?” By the time the kid had finished his sentence Alex had whipped the bag off of his back, unzipping it and pulling out the gun, pointing it directly between the kids eyes. He gasped, taking an involuntary step backwards. Alex allowed it, taking in the rest of the scene. The kid’s phone was in his pocket, he could see the outline clearly. That would work.<br/> <br/> “If you even think of going for your phone I will shoot you so fast you won’t be able to get your hand in your pocket.” The kid nodded, eyes focused on the barrel of the gun. “Okay. Good. Get in the bedroom.” He indicated the doorway with his gun, and the kid followed instructions, making sure to keep his hands in plain sight. At least he was smart. Alex glanced at the mail that was piled on the counter, catching the name of the resident. Tommy. Not Thomas, Tommy. Interesting. </p>
<p> “Now,” he followed the kid, Tommy, into the doorway of the room, keeping the gun trained on him. “You’re going to hand me your phone, slowly. No funny moves. Just pull it out and toss it over.” They were on the second floor near the back of the building, but he could hear the officers radios chirping closer to them by the minute. “Hurry up, I don’t have all day.” </p>
<p> Tommy reached into his pocket, hands shaking hard in spite of his efforts to keep calm, and pulled out his phone, tossing it across the room to the man in the doorway. Alex made no move to catch it, letting it fall to the floor before he stomped on it, shattering the screen with his boot heel. Tommy winced, nearly complaining before thinking better of it. Nodding, Alex lowered the gun, though not relaxing his stance. He was ready if Tommy tried to pull anything. </p>
<p> “When the police come to your door, you know nothing, right?” Tommy hesitated, fiddling with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Right?” He cocked the gun, the sharp sound enough for Tommy to nod frantically, clearing his throat.</p>
<p> “Right. I saw nothing, didn’t hear anything. Had the tv up to loud to notice anything going on.” Alex nodded in approval, uncocking the gun. </p>
<p> “Good to hear!” He sounded almost cheerful, as if he hadn’t just tried to kill someone and threatened another. However, if I hear you’re the reason I got caught, you’ll regret it.” Alex grinned, then left the doorway. Even after he heard the door close, Tommy stayed sitting on the bed, frozen. Somehow he didn’t doubt that what the man had said was true. Even if he was behind bars, Tommy didn’t doubt that he had people on the outside, just itching for orders. Tommy really didn’t want to be involved in that world, not if he had anything to say about it.</p>
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